


New Life

by RedInkOfShame



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ... mostly smut, F/M, One Shot, and a lot of smut, papae!solas, pre- and early-Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 04:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14762832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedInkOfShame/pseuds/RedInkOfShame
Summary: "What if Solas once met the Inquisitor while traveling prior to the conclave and they had a short but whirlwind romantic encounter and when he meets her after the conclave he finds out she had a child?" - @fatale-attraction





	New Life

**Author's Note:**

> This summary is from [this post](http://fatale-distraction.tumblr.com/post/167211838289/what-if-solas-once-met-the-inquisitor-while) by @fatale-attraction ! I read it months ago and couldn't get it out of my head, because it seemed to fit Keria so much. 
> 
> @littleblue-eyedbird beat me to this prompt, so if you'd like to read her version too, it's [right here](http://littleblue-eyedbird.tumblr.com/post/167474491593/fatale-distraction-what-if-solas-once-met-the)!

Solas had awakened in a hazy fog of a different world. Unfamiliar yet...Similar. But wrong, so utterly wrong. 

Magic, spirits, dreams… They were all locked away, shrouded in the threadbare veil he’d woven to conceal them. A failed attempt save his people who were now so much worse, mere shadows of themselves. 

His first encounter with the new elves had not gone well. His own fault, like so much else; his shock, grief, had overwhelmed him and he’d lashed out unjustly, unable to bear their words. The second encounter was in a city--or what evidently passed as one in this age. Those with pointed ears were walled off and living in poverty. They took care of each other as best they could, sharing food and singing around their tree, a mockery of customs past. They made the best of a situation they had no hope of escaping, scarcely more free that the slaves he’d given up everything to protect. He learned that in the north they remained slaves in truth.

He had not stayed there long, his heart aching to see them so diminished that they could not even comprehend their own loss. A plan was slowly being pieced together in his mind, and he did not intend to waste time with any additional attempts to reach his people. 

But then in his explorations he came across another clan of Dalish, similar to the first he’d met. They were not so aggressive or distrusting as the other, although perhaps that had more to do with his own behavior. They welcomed a lone apostate elf to share their fire and food. They asked him questions of his life, if he was escaping from a Circle or city or clan, but when he was not forthcoming they did not press and instead regaled them with stories of their own, pleased to have a fresh audience.

He vastly preferred hearing about their personal experiences and interactions, but they mostly spoke of fables and forgotten history. He bit his tongue and tried to smile past the pain the words caused; let it not be said that he learned nothing from his previous encounters. Instead he ate their meal--which was surprisingly good--and drank of their strong, crude alcohol until his eyelids were heavy. 

Though given a warm space to lay his bedroll, there were also many others who offered to share their aravels--mostly unbonded women. Their obvious flirtations lacked the political subtly he’d once been accustomed to, but his smile as he politely declined was genuine. A brief glimpse of near-normalcy, something easily understood even now. 

The next day some clan members embarked to explore a rediscovered ruin--the very same Solas had come in search of. Though he’d intended to adventure in alone and could easily wait for them to leave, he instead found himself asking to accompany their party. He would still have to be alone when he did what he came here to do, but he was curious of what they would think of what they found. 

He lingered behind to observe their reactions and regretted following them in, becoming gradually more irate as the day pressed on. At every turn their Keeper, a steadfast woman named Deshanna who was what passed as a capable mage (admittedly, embarrassingly, she was more capable than he was in his present state) would point to something and comment on it, ‘teaching’ her people a number of entirely false assumptions. From time to time he’d gently try to suggest another explanation, only to be shot down ruthlessly. 

Eventually he could not quite stop himself from muttering a correction under his breath, not realizing that the clan’s First, Keria, was within earshot. She did not anger like Deshanna would have, however. Instead she smiled wryly, electric eyes dancing in amusement over what she would later call his ‘attitude’. And she asked, quietly, for him to explain further.

It became the two of them lingering back to murmur over each new find to one another, her interested in his perspective obvious, and though she never said that she agreed with him he could tell that she carefully considered his words. She dismissed nothing out of hand. 

As the hours passed more members joined their number, separating from the others. He recognized them as hers; the clan was divided, then, between those loyal only to the old ways and those willing to listen to other ideas. Divided between those who belonged to the Keeper and those who belonged to the First, who would one day lead the clan. 

Some part of him was comforted in the thought that their future lay with her. Not that it would matter, of course, once his plans were set in motion.

The day grew on and the group returned by dusk. Solas made certain he had his things in order; still frustrated, he intended to leave with the sunrise. He did not have much to pack, of course, and as the hunters brought in the day’s kill Keria found him and bid him to accompany her on a stroll as she checked the wards set the day before. Though he knew he should be cautious, he found himself agreeing. 

Out of sight of the camp, if not the scouts, she spoke more freely. She shared her own skepticism and theories, interested in what he thought of them. He tried to respond carefully, wishing he could grant her the validation she sought as he carefully skirted any straight answers.

He underestimated her lightning wit, though, and it was not long before she caught on that he seemed to know things beyond any modern elf’s ken. This time she pushed and, scrambling for an explanation, he’d inadvertently revealed himself as somniari. 

She’d unleashed a torrent of questions upon him then, listening raptly to his every word as he told tales of his explorations of the Fade. They moved from one topic to the next, and he was thankful that it was so simple to distracted her from the temple they’d explored that day. She threw him off so easily, and he feared admitting to more than he intended about his presence here.

He found himself in a clearing near a lake, both of them missing the evening meal as she sat beside him, running her delicate hands along the grasses as they spoke of wondrous things. He leaned back on his hands, legs stretched before him. Dressed immodestly in the season’s warmth, the stalks tickled the thighs exposed by the hip-high slits in her robes. That she chose not to sit in a position that provided her with more protection was the first of many small flirtations that evening, though she never let it distract from the conversation. 

Some he pretended not to notice. One or two he returned, if only to watch the way she hesitated, unsure if he had meant his words they way they sounded, before she retreated back to a friendly tone. Once, he gave her a passing compliment on her focus, expecting it to go over her head. An innocent slip falling almost lazily off his tongue, easily blamed on his pleasant mood and the light of twin moons reflecting serenely off the water. The long look she gave him was intrigued, reflective eyes dancing mischievously under a quirked brow. 

Perhaps his compliment had not been taken so innocently after all, then. 

“You know that you’re safe here, right? As long as you mean us no ill intent, Clan Lavellan will see you free and fed and given safe passage. You owe us nothing.”

“Yes...” he replied slowly, unsure what prompted the non sequitur. “I have never felt otherwise.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to feel pressured into anything you did not want simply because I’m First,” she said, shifting. He remembered that, in her mind, she held a position of power. 

“Such as…?”

She shook her head at herself. 

“Someday Fen’Harel will take me himself, for I am a wicked woman.” Solas clenched his fists reflexively at the unexpected stab that came with the curse, at first not noticing the intention of her movement until she’d stepped to either side of his lap, slowly lowering herself to her knees above him. No part of her touched him except for a single finger lifting his chin to face her. As small as it was, he could not even remember the last time he’d been touched. Her fingertip was enough to send a jolt through him. “Forgive me. You’ve already answered once, but I can’t help but ask just one more time.”

She had asked a hundred questions that day, but after a heartbeat of hesitation he remembered the night before; she’d been among those he’d turned away, her offer silent but blatant in her coy looks. 

He hated himself for being tempted by this frail creature. The minds of modern elves were simple, their spirits faint, their lives short--he knew that, in Arlathan, it would have been debated whether or not people such as these even had the autonomy to consent. 

He loathed himself far more when he reached for her, when he pulled her towards him, when they kissed. 

For a flash of time this world was perfect. The way her lips felt on his, the way she tasted as his tongue slipped passed hers, the way she devoured him with a vigor he returned tenfold… It was perfect because it was the _same_ , as if he had not endured a millennia in sleep, as if it were an ordinary, leisurely day spent on simple pleasures long before he’d started a revolution. 

She was not one for taking it slow, he surmised, as her hand bypassed the rest of him to reach between them for his cock. Within a stroke he was hardened, within three he was shaking. He knew he would not last long like this. 

Already leaning into her, he pressed further still, laying her back, back into the grass. Her small breasts tantalized him as he did, barely concealed by what passed as the bodice of her robes. He easily nuzzled the slip of fabric aside to catch a nipple with his mouth even as he pulled aside her skirts. She arched against him, frantically tugging at his own clothes.

When she was exposed to her hips he paused to look at her, the way her pale skin nigh glowed in the moonlight, the small thatch of black hair, her glistening crease. Some distant part of him felt a flood of relief as he dove into her, relishing at her scent, at her taste exploding on his tongue. 

_This_ was the same. Wonderfully, beautifully the same as it had always been. Individuals varied but there were consistencies as well, and he sunk blissfully into the familiarity, the rightness of her. Of the feel of her outer lips pressed vertically to the edges of his, of the way her pallet went from pliant to firm depending on where he ran his tongue, of the way her pearl swelled so readily for him. 

He worried briefly over how quiet she was, but a glance revealed how hard she was biting her lips together as her hands dug into dirt and stalks, her eyes squeezed tight. It made sense that a close-knit community with only fabric walls--if that--would learn to take their pleasure quietly. He tried all the harder to draw sounds from her, and he spread his hand over her stomach so that he small movements could guide him to where she wanted him most; he could not hear the subtle hitches of her breath with her thighs clamped to his ears as they were.

When she crested it was with a rush of air from her lungs as her hips bucked marvelously uncontrolled against his mouth and chin. Solas would have liked to continue his torment of her, gently teasing her edges until she truly screamed, but she pulled at his hands, begging to feel more of him.

He moved up her slim body, one hand bracing in the earth beside her short hair as he tried to use the other to free his member and align it with her entrance. It proved more difficult to find than it had been with his tongue, and he was off the first time he tried to push in to her. Impatiently, Keria reached down to grab him herself, her hand far less calloused than he would have expected. 

He pressed forward, and the world ceased to exist. 

There was nothing else but their joining, no sight nor sound, no pain nor guilt. He forgot his intention to be gentle, to hold himself back for her. There was nothing but her softness beneath him, his blood rushing in his ears as her slick heat pressed against his shaft, the delicious friction as he moved faster and faster, trying hard to bury himself for eternity in his moment, in her. 

Only seconds could have passed before he shouted and spilled himself in utter ecstasy. He panted, and shame immediately washed over him as his senses sluggishly returned. 

He found himself limp atop her and quickly pulled back; he was far too heavy for her small frame. He felt his face flush, his forehead beaded with sweat, and looked down at her regretfully. Before he could apologize, though, he saw that she was smiling tenderly, her fingertips gently caressing his head behind one ear. 

Her voice sounded oddly caring as she asked, “It’d been a long time, hadn’t it?”. 

He could not help his bark of laughter, breathless as it was. “You might say that.”

Humor returned to her smile. She kissed him in response, softer now. They spent a long minutes like that, lips together as their pulses slowed. Then they righted themselves, and he helped her clean herself in the lake. 

This time, when she led him back to her aravel, he did not object. 

~~~

Keria had many privileges over the other clan members. As First, she did not share her aravel with her family or other unpartnered elves, the space instead filled with magic artifacts, alchemy supplies, and the few books deemed worthy of keeping. He also spied embroidery sundries, chaotically organized. Her cot was still remarkably small, however, and they entwined their bodies by necessity for them both to fit upon it. 

Even with that considered, Keria did not keep her hands to herself. As she touched him she praised him, murmuring over and over of how he was gorgeous, how gifted his tongue was, how well he’d filled her. It was not long before he was hard again, sleep forgotten. Her pillow muffled the small, desperate sounds that were accompanied by the slap of skin, both drowned out by the creaking of the swaying ironbark aravel as he bent her over that small cot and had her again; properly this time.

~~~

She woke him before dawn, a faint grey light attempting to filter in past the fabric wagon walls. Around him, Solas could hear the sounds of the clan’s early risers quietly going about their assigned morning chores, as to not disturb the rest of the sleeping clan. He smelled woodsmoke from the cooking area, and heard the occasional chuckle or snippet of conversation. 

He also heard Keria’s whispered begging, pleading with him to sit on the edge of the bed so she could fall to her knees before him and break her fast on him before the clan’s communal meal. As if it were some hardwon favor for him to clutch the bedding and watch as she leisurely worked him, her pace slow and patient. It took him quite some time to spend himself for her to swallow, still sated as he was from the night before, but she was nothing but attentive. He was certain that she was intentionally being as blatant as possible with the wetness that trailed from her tongue to the head of his cock. 

~~~

Solas and Keria were only somewhat late to Clan Lavellan’s breakfast fire, the meal shared among them all as all meals were. They did not wait for her. The Keeper had been served first and with the finest cut of meat, followed by the most seasoned hunters, the bravest warriors, the revered elders. Keria was entitled to be served among them as well, but declined with such practice that he knew the formality must be a daily occurrence for her. 

Despite the traditions of respect, the group did not arbitrarily divide themselves as they dined, standing or sitting on logs with family and friends, the scouts or hunters who spent all day with their own taking the opportunity to catch up with those they missed during their work. The air was fresh and the breeze was gentle as children ran between the legs of adults, individual families impossible to distinguish as seemingly every adult was equally charged with their rearing. People chatted merrily and with the closeness of those who had spent their entire lives together, freely teasing one another or butting in to a overheard conversation from yards away. 

Despite the camaraderie, Solas was beginning to discern those that did not get along quite so well, the passive infighting or long-held grudges. Many amused and knowing glances, and a few jealous ones, followed Keria and Solas’ movements as they joined the others. She smiled coyly at the clan gossips as she walked and ate, and from his position to the side he heard her promise to go into great detail with them later. He thought that should have bothered him. It did not. 

Though he tried to remain a respectful distance from the gathering, several young men came to him with smirks and gentle ribbing, laughing knowingly over what a chore it could be to keep Keria satisfied. They seemed to have experience with the trial first-hand. He could not quite refrain from the occasional quip, but he did try to maintain the guise of the skittish hermit. The men didn’t seem to need him to speak to carry the conversation among themselves at his expense, however. 

He supposed it did not hurt to listen to any tips that they shared.

~~~

The meal was plentiful but swiftly ended as everyone left to begin their assigned tasks for the day. Keria insisted Solas retire to her bed, alone, telling him that he needed rest. He was worn indeed, and tried to play it as if it were only travel weariness, but the quirk of her eyebrow made it clear that she had not missed the way he’d nearly fallen back asleep in the brief moment he’d slumped back after she’d sluiced every drop of his seed that she could from him that morning. They both knew the real reason he could scarcely keep his eyes open. 

When he awoke again hours later the heat of the aravel was stifling. Any part of him that wished to stay abed was overruled by the discomfort of the layer of sweat over him and the sheets. 

The moment he stepped out he felt immensely cooler, however, and moving to the dappled sunlight under the trees was actually quite pleasant. He knew from the day before that in the morning hours the camp remained mostly quiet, the day laborers stepping away so that the sentries who watched over them at night could sleep peacefully. The hunters would be out in their perches, the launderers and craftsmen most likely working near the river, where it was cooler, and the cooks distributed cold midday meals. He heard the soft murmur of voices on the far end of the camp, though, and made his way in that direction. 

He found Keria sitting in a circle of elves. He saw that many of them held small projects in their hands, such as stockings to darn or fletching to repair. Eavesdropping, he learned that she was explaining what had been found in the ruins to those unable to go the day before. The Keeper was currently leading another expedition, but most of the clan would not have the chance before they moved on; unlike many other Dalish clans who would stay in the same area for months or even years, Clan Lavellan moved nearly constantly, usually making a new camp every night. Even when they found a plentiful site they stayed only days, a week at most.

Their paranoia suited Solas well, for he still intended to enter that temple alone. In the meantime, he listened to Keria explain to the others what they had missed. Where Deshonna might speak as if her words were entirely fact, Keria subtly prefaced her own words, informing her clan members even while she planted the seed of doubt. Phrasings like ‘We believe that this is…’, or ‘It might be from the same era as’, or ‘Well, the Keeper told us that…’. Every statement was presented as an idea, open to suggestion and vulnerable to context. He noticed a time or two that she slipped in an idea she’d taken from her conversations with him. 

Solas also noticed the effect it had on the others, who would interrupt with another idea or interpretation of their own. She would treat each of their thoughts seriously--even the inanely stupid ones--and the conversation would turn to a friendly, curious debate amongst them all on what evidence might prove that person wrong or right. Keria’s comfort in leading discussions, in debate, in the company of her kinsmen was clear on her face, and she seemed easily able to maintain her focused thoughts even as her hands were busy creating vibrant flowers on the cushion she was embroidering. 

She had noticed his approach and eventually gestured towards an open spot for him when he did not join, but he ignored the offer. By the time she’d tied off a last knot of floss on her work she’d clearly been trying to lead the conversation to a close. Despite their continued interest, when she squinted at the position of the sun and stood, announcing to the gathering that the sun was at its zenith and it was time to bathe in the lake to keep cool, relief was evident on the faces of the majority of the other elves. Fanning themselves, the crowd dispersed to gather their things or rouse the others. 

“You’ll join us?” Keria asked as she moved to Solas. It did not truly sound like a question, though, and without breaking her stride she took his hand in hers and led him away. She tossed her handiwork onto a pile in her aravel and grabbed a bag supplies, and they made their way down a game trail towards the lake. 

As they walked he asked, “Does your Keeper know how much you are telling the clan? Must the clan share everything, even knowledge that does not pertain to their duties?”

“She does and absolutely,” she replied without hesitation. “We are more than our duties to the clan. While many of us have our specialties, everyone in this clan has an idea of what it’s like for the others. Every child is taught their letters, for example. Some take to it like nugs to elfroot, others will refuse to ever read or write again as soon as the Keeper has declared their studies sufficient.”

“You were the former, I imagine,” he told her. Her smirk was answer enough. 

“I may not know nearly as much about how to flush out a rabbit or ensure the halla are healthy or how to find where soappetals grow, but having a notion of each of these things keeps me from thinking one group is lazy, or undeserving, or that to be assigned a certain job is a punishment of some kind. Similarly, it is not enough to not have secrets--active and open communication amongst everyone prevents misunderstanding and keeps bitterness and rivalries from taking root. I consider it to be more important than any of my other duties: wards and research do no good to a clan that does not trust one another.”

He took a moment to think about that as they wove through the trees, following a game trail. He still did not think it wise for everyone in a society of any kind to be told of such things, lest ambitious fools steal off in the night to grab for power that they do not understand… but he had to admit there were plenty of times when ‘need-to-know only’ attitudes had exasperated a problem as well. “What about the manner in which you update your people? You do not speak with the same assuredness as your Keeper.”

She could have taken it as an insult, but he knew she would not. She quirked her lips and said, “She knows how I speak to them. We’ve fought about it many times, but she knows.”

He heard chatter and laughter and splashing then, and through the trees he saw flashes of a variety of skin tones as bodies of various ages and genders all bathed together. Tension settled in his stomach and he began to form an excuse not to join when Keria lead him to swing wide. 

He found himself trailing after her along the lazy river that exited the pond, until she found a spot that suited her. Without preamble she stopped, pulled her robes over her head in one swift motion, and trotted into the water. Like the day before, she wore no underthings. She clearly expected Solas to follow. He did. 

She’d chosen their spot well. The water was calm and deep enough to reach her navel, and when he stripped and stepped in the rocks under his bare feet were worn smooth. Out of habit he began to conjure a spell to sanitize and heat the water, but he stopped himself. Closing his eyes for a moment he realized that the water felt refreshing just as it was. 

Especially when it dripped from Keria’s hands as she wrapped her arms around him from behind. Her cooled fingers caressed his chest under the beating of the sun as it conspired to leave him with more freckles. She must have been standing on a rock beneath the water because he could feel her breath on the back of his neck, and her bush brushing against his backside. 

He had not thought to prepare himself before she nibbled his ear, and she took far too much delight in the discovery that he was ticklish, attacking his sensitive areas incessantly. She practically climbed over him to keep him from escaping, a wet tangle of limbs and giggling until he dunked them both into the water to save himself. When they resurfaced she resumed her position behind him but was calmer this time. It was a relief, a comfort almost, when she predictably reached for him; Solas closed his eyes and fought to relax in to her touch as she stroked him in the water, trying to cling to the serenity of the moment. Her other hand rested over his heart, and he covered it gently with his own. 

After several moments, when the head of his cock was wet with more than just water, he tried to turn to face her. She wouldn’t have it, though, and said as much, her voice husky and breath tickling his shoulder. Her hand splashed as she worked him, half submerged and then not and then again. He could feel her peering over his shoulder, lips pressed against his damp skin, and they both watched when he sputtered and his seed flow downstream.

He caught his breath quickly and spun, catching her, insistent on tasting her allusive lips. To his bafflement (and disappointment) she told him she wasn’t in the mood to receive attention, only to give it. 

At least she allowed him to scrub her back for her. 

~~~

His dissatisfaction nagged at him the rest of the afternoon and early evening, his thoughts hungry. When Keria went to make her rounds to check the magic wards before dinner he eagerly asked to join her. She smiled brightly at that, pleased at his initiation--he could have sworn his breath caught in this throat at that, like a foolish lovestruck youth. 

They barely made it out of earshot of the camp before her suggestive brushes goaded him in to pressing her against a tree, devouring her mouth. She yielded readily, to his delight. They tugged at each other ineffectually until he could not help but hook her knees up with his hands, bearing her weight as he frantically lined up with her. Her hips beat into the tree as he took her roughly, her nails raking his back in payback for the coarse bark against hers. 

~~~

When they made their way back to the clan, wards checked and disheveled clothes set aright, something gnawed at Solas. As he watched this beautiful quick witted creature banter easily with her family he stepped aside, analyzing the way he felt. 

His stomach knotted heavily as he realized what felt wrong--he was happy here. Too relaxed. He tried to picture himself as a part of this simplistic life and found that it wasn’t nearly as impossible to imagine as it has been days before; not by half. The people here… They didn’t have much, but they did not seem to feel the loss.

As her glinting eyes met his from across the camp he worried that if he stayed here much longer it would become very hard to leave.

He swallowed. He schooled his face into a mask to conceal how he wanted to go to her, to join in their tribal dance around the fire. 

When they returned turn her aravel that night he collected his things under the guise of straightening up the small space. He climbed into bed beside her, and waited for her breath to slow. 

Instead, after a while her voice came softly in the dark. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Guilt made his heart beat heavily in his chest. 

“Yes.”

He sensed her nod beside him. “Will you at least stay until we break our fast? We’re picking up camp and moving on tomorrow; it would be a natural time for you to separate. And the chefs will add honey to the rest of the boar from tonight, I think you would like it.”

Taking a deep breath, trying to keep the pleading from his voice, he said simply, “I can’t.”

He turned to see her nodding solemnly into her pillow. “I understand,” she said quietly. “I left a gap in the wards, just east of that little canyon. The guards will have limited visibility there. You won’t have to explain yourself to anyone.”

His breath shuddered as he felt an unexpected wave of gratefulness. 

He wondered how many strangers she had welcomed to her cot, only for them to vanish in the dead of night. 

“Do you have to leave immediately? I never did get to ride you…”

She bit his neck and moved to position herself over him, though her heart didn’t seem in it. He blocked her path with a touch, though, and guided her back down into the bedding. 

Keria deserved so much more than a quick rutting from him. 

He was gentle with her, patient. He took his time kissing every inch of her, waiting until she was hot with need before he touched her anywhere satisfying. He tried, through touch and taste, to show her what this brief time with her meant to him. To tell her without speaking that he would never forget what comfort she had given him when he needed it most.

It was nearly an hour later when he guided her to climax for the final time that night, cresting with her. He laid with her, holding her, until she pretended to fall asleep. Untangling himself, he got out of the bed, gathered his meager possessions, and ducked out of the aravel.

Only once the clan was far away he would return for what he initially came for.

~~~~~

To say it was a surprise when Solas saw Keria again a year later would be an understatement. Drastically so.

She was broken and chained, and a mark glowed in her hand. A mistake. He did his best to keep her alive. To keep them all alive when he predicted, accurately, that she would be able to close the rifts to the Fade. 

He agonized over how to behave when she woke, fearful that she would come to him, would expect to pick up where they left off. 

He did not understand his disappointment when she did not.

They crowned her Herald--and she hated it. They thrust a mountain of responsibility on her narrow shoulders, tossed as she was in a world so different from her own, a world she didn’t understand. It was no surprise, then, when he found her crying on the docks just outside of Haven, feet hanging over the frozen lake. 

He almost left. Almost. His instinct told him to. But she did not deserve that, did not deserve any of this, and he knew she had no friends amongst the humans to share her burdens with. He went to her, and sat beside her. She tried and failed to quell the tears as she heard him approach, unsteady breathes visible in the cold. 

They sat in awkward silence for a time, near each other but still apart, until she said apologized. “Sorry. I know I should get back before they send more people after me.”

“There is no need to be sorry, Lethallan. I know this has all been… A huge change for you. There is no shame in feeling overwhelmed.”

“It’s not that,” she said. Then amended, “It’s not _just_ that.”

He didn’t ask her to explain, instead simply reaching for her hand. She took his, gave it a squeeze and then let go.

“I miss my daughter,” she managed to choke out through the tears springing anew in her eyes before sniffling, nose reddened.

He nodded hesitantly. “That must be difficult.” He paused, then admitted, “I don’t remember you having a daughter. Did she stay with your family?”

Keria barked a laugh. “I didn’t have her back then, Solas. She’s just a handful of months old now.”

“Ah, yes.” He hesitated again. “I did not know you were expecting when we… When I stayed with your clan. I would have been… Gentler.”

She turned to him, blinking. “Wow, really?” she asked flatly, shaking her head. “I wasn’t with child when you first arrived. I was when you _left_.”

He might have misunderstood again if not for the pointed way she was looking at him. She arched her eyebrows expectantly, and he finally realized what she was hinting (not-so-subtley) at.

“Oh,” he said. Then again, “ _Oh_. You mean… Your daughter is--she’s... I’m the..”

“You’re the one that impregnated me, yes.” She looked away, crossed her arms. “I’m not expecting you to be happy about it… I just didn’t want to keep it from you any longer. And I do miss her.”

It didn’t add up--but of course, it must. He should have realized that beings with such shortened life spans would have a shorter gestational period as well. 

“Maybe you can visit her. Arrange a trip,” he muttered just to say something, his thoughts still not quite caught up.

“No! Please, don’t tell anyone. I don’t want these shems to know about her. _Please_.”

He understood why she was afraid. He nodded as she met his eyes. “I won’t,” he promised. When she nodded, satisfied, there was another awkward silence before he asked, “Is… Is she safe?”

Keria nodded, glancing away again. “Safer than she’d be here. Clan Lavellan knows better to stray near something like a demon-spouting rift, and there are plenty of people to care for her. The halla milk will keep her strong. Mine has already dried up...” Almost inaudibly she added, “She doesn’t need me.”

He did not know how to respond to that. To any of this. “What is her name?”

“You don’t have to do that, Solas.”

“What?”

“Pretend you care. I know you didn’t sire her on purpose. She’s my own.” He felt as if she’d struck him a blow, but when his mouth opened no words came out. She explained, “I wasn’t going to burden you with the news originally, but--”

“No! It is… She is not a burden. Thank you. For telling me.” He didn’t dare think about the idea of him never knowing. A daughter… Keeping his face carefully blank, and at a loss of words, he came up with, “I hope that having her did not hamper your status within your clan.”

Keria huffed a laugh. “We aren’t like these humans, acting like a woman loses her value when she lays with a man who isn’t her bond-- isn’t her husband. Besides, fresh bloodlines-- _especially_ that of a mage--are always welcome in a small clan like ours.”

The way she’d been so eager… The way all unbonded women had been that first night. “You did it on purpose!” he accused. 

Keria took offense to that, as she made clear by not deigning to respond, only crossing her arms over her bundled-up body and staring him down long enough that he began to flush. 

“In fact I didn’t,” she said coldly. “If you recall, many of the things we did together could not have resulted in a child--unless you think the Dalish are stupid enough to think that they would?”

Solas looked away, ashamed of his outburst. He was also considerably distracted by the memories of things they did to one another that could not conceive a child. “No. I am sorry. I didn’t…” He trailed off helplessly.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, taking pity on him. “Many do exactly that; you made a reasonable assumption. I just never pictured myself as a mother, I guess. I’m not the type.”

 

“You are kind, and wise. I’m sure you rose the the occasion, just like you have with all of this,” he said gently, gesturing to the Breach. Her small smile encouraged him, and he admitted, “I… wish I had been there, to take care of you. Both of you. But I suppose you had plenty of help.”

She nodded. Of course she had the support of her people.

“And... I was not pretending. I would very much like to know about her.” 

“Well, then… Actually, uh, to answer your question: we don’t name our children until they get old enough to start exhibiting personalities.”

“I see,” he said, disappointed. It sounded as if she would say nothing further. 

To his surprise, she did. “But she has your eyes. I think. Mine are blue, too, but… They look more like yours.”

“What else?”

“She loves lullabies, but they don’t put her to sleep,” Keria started, lighting up as she spoke about her little one. 

Though her time with her had been short she seemed to have no end of stories, and seemed happy to share every one of them with him. Some made her cry anew, and Solas moved closer to comfort her. She did not let go of his hand this time. Before they knew it dark had fallen, and promises had been made to introduce Solas to his daughter when this was all over. After that, it was common for the two of them to be seen in each other’s company, oftentimes in whispers.


End file.
